


Progress does not speak as loud as my heart

by RavenXavier



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Manipulation, Intimidation, Loneliness, M/M, Mind Meld, Quite Literally, Self-Hatred, Telepathic Bond, post-mag145
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 05:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: Behind him, the tape recorder crackles unnaturally. Jon straightens up and turns around with sharp eyes a second before the man steps out of the fog; that seems to surprise him. Good.“Ah, you’d think I’d be used to you Beholding types by now, wouldn’t you?” he still says cheerfully enough, though his pale eyes are cold as ice.“You haven’t spent that much time with us,” Jon retorts. There are chills on his forearms he stubbornly ignores. Curiosity threatens to swallow him whole, and the fear is minor underneath it - Peter Lukas looks impressive, with his broad shoulders and icy smile, but Jon is so well acquainted with loneliness by now that the effects of his arrival are barely different than his usual feelings.





	Progress does not speak as loud as my heart

**Author's Note:**

> I had emotions to work through with the latest episode; to be fair, I intended this piece to be much more introspective of Jon's feelings and resignation of not being able to reach people? but then Peter Lukas happened, and, well, this turned into something different. 
> 
> As always, the biggest thank you EVER, to the best beta reader, [ HermaeusMora ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaeusMora/pseuds/HermaeusMora) . Thank you for supporting my french/english mutant words, for your commentary on things that's always so uplifiting to read, AND for indulging my desperate need to PUBLISH FAST AND IMMEDIATELY. 
> 
> the title comes from the song "the scientist" from Coldplay. As I said: I had lots. and lots. of Jonathan Sims feelings.

Georgie doesn’t close the door back behind her, not entirely; he thinks the gesture is unconscious, the lingering habit of letting Jon know that he can follow if he wishes, that he’s welcome to come in - or leave. She doesn’t mean anything by it now though, and Jon stays rooted to his chair, staring at the door for a long time, feeling curiously detached from everything that’s just happened. 

Eventually, he hears Georgie’s voice again, mingled with Melanie’s, as they make their way up the corridors. 

“ - made pasta wrong. Who even - who makes pasta _wrong?_ ”

“So another asshole then,” Melanie says. “You _do_ have a type, don’t you?”

“Melanie, I’ve tried dating _you._ ”

“Yeah? Not helping yourself here you know.”

“Please don’t -” Georgie sighs, and their footsteps come to a halt. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Hey - are you alright?” Melanie’s concern is sharp and wary. 

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine. I’m fine. Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

_Who’s the hypocrite now?_ Jon thinks; the bitterness tastes wrong on his tongue, and he swallows it down as he rises up abruptly, walking stiffly to the door to close it. He lets his forehead fall against the wood and breathes out slowly as if that might be of any help. But even this is hard, these days - even this feels _unnecessary._ He is tired and Georgie’s voice hurts down the base of his skull, a low thrum of rejection he is used to, that he _expects_ , without being able to entirely accept it. 

God, he wishes he could _accept it._ He’s resentful of his own heart, who couldn’t stop fluttering at the sight of Georgie, who couldn’t stop itself from _hoping,_ however faintly, for a different outcome. Georgie is right to stay far from him and they both know it. She tried and he failed; that’s how the story goes. He fails, and fails, and - if he must sink at the bottom of the sea, he _is_ glad she got out of his boat when there was still time. 

He wants her to be happy and that means not being in her life, but his heart yearns and protests that he needs _her_ in _his_ life. A pointed, selfish distinction. A craving that’s born entirely out of lonel -

Behind him, the tape recorder crackles unnaturally. Jon straightens up and turns around with sharp eyes a second before the man steps out of the fog; that seems to surprise him. Good.

“Ah, you’d think I’d be used to you Beholding types by now, wouldn’t you?” he still says cheerfully enough, though his pale eyes are cold as ice. 

“You haven’t spent that much time with us,” Jon retorts. There are chills on his forearms he stubbornly ignores. Curiosity threatens to swallow him whole, and the fear is minor underneath it - Peter Lukas looks impressive, with his broad shoulders and icy smile, but Jon is so well acquainted with loneliness by now that the effects of his arrival are barely different than his usual feelings. 

“Been observing you lot quite a bit actually, Archivist,” Lukas says. “Not my usual strong suit, but I think I’ve been doing good enough of a job.”

“You’re certainly not Elias,” Jon tells him, unimpressed. Lukas chortles, and Jon’s curiosity wins. “What are you doing here?” he asks sharply.

“Thought it might be time for a visit,” Lukas answers and then licks his lips. “Mmh. Very unpleasant, that. I don’t suppose we can be courteous about the whole business?”

“No.” Jon decides. “I’m sure you’ll disappear whenever it pleases you anyway.” Lukas shrugs good-naturedly. “Where’s Martin?” 

“Upstairs of course,” Lukas says; this time, it radiates with satisfaction and amusement. “I’m sure you could easily go and knock at his door anytime. Of course, that doesn’t mean I control whether he wants to see you or not.”

Jon’s hand curls at his side; he feels a pang in his chest and hates it. Lukas nods and sighs, taking a few steps closer. 

“Now, that was a mistake, Jonathan,” he says, patronizingly kind. “You’re giving me something to use against you, going around and asking about Martin. Of course,” he adds, “I suppose you would have given me power no matter whom you asked about. That’s how it goes. Martin who refuses to see you, the people of the Institute who avoid you, Melanie who’s trying to distance herself as much as she can, Miss Barker refusing to help, Basira afraid of what she sees in you - Even Daisy has other things to trouble herself with than y -”

Jon doesn’t snap; he thinks he would have, a few weeks back, but it seems counterproductive now. He knows that Lukas is merely speaking the truth; it cuts through him and aches everywhere and - he’s merely doing what he’s supposed to be doing. That’s almost boring to realize.

“You’ve come to feast then,” he says flatly. 

Lukas raises his eyebrows; he looks pleased. “Well, there’s only so long a man can resist,” he tells Jon. Jon doesn’t flinch when he crosses the distance between them and grabs his chin; it’s done with more gentleness than he expected, and the gesture immediately reminds him of how long it’s been since he _has_ been touched by another human being with such care. It’s pointlessly cruel, and it makes his eyes sting, and still, still, some part of him merely thinks _so that’s how Forsaken can make you feel._ “Delicious,” Lukas hums. His breath is cool over Jon’s face.

“Has it been all your doing, then?” Jon can’t help but ask. 

“Oh no,” Lukas says. “That’s the beauty of my patron, I suppose. People are so good at bringing their own suffering upon themselves. I’m not making you crave for Martin, or your dead ex-colleagues or _anyone,_ truly. You’ve created your own loneliness wonderfully all on your own.”

“Delightful.”

“Very much so, yes,” Lukas grins coldly. “Do you know, Jonathan, if the Eye wasn’t so deep within you, I would have introduced you to a few members of my family. Got quite a good number of nieces or nephews that haven’t found a match yet.”

Jon snorts. “I’m not interested.”

“No you’re not, are you? You’ve got a taste for warmth; you like people who care. I do, too. People who don’t care aren’t scared of me, which is always a little bit offensive, frankly. But ha, it doesn’t matter much. Even if you weren’t so keen on clinging to Beholding over anything else, Elias would still berate me for taking what’s his. He’s peculiar like that.”

His other hand is stroking Jon’s hip lightly now and that makes Jon’s mind stumble back on the ghost of Georgie’s small fingers, running softly along his sides as Jon leaned his cheek on her lap while they studied for their middle-ages English exam. There must have been other times they did this, he thinks, but the memory is laced with Georgie’s sad and stubborn eyes, of her quiet and resigned certainty when admitting she wouldn’t help Jon, because she knew better, she’d always known better, she knew _him_ -

“You’re doing a very bad job at trying to kill me,” Jon says at last. His voice is slower. He is so tired.

“Killing you?” Lukas says. “My, what makes you think I have any interest in your death?”

“You’re _here._ That doesn’t seem to be something you favour much. I can’t see any other reason -”

“Truly? I suppose you lot are rather used of having everything, well, _spelled out_ for them. I’m not going to _kill you,_ Jonathan. Just as I’m pretty sure it never crossed your mind to kill your little statement givers.”

“Right.” Jon can’t help it. He laughs, though it’s hollow. “We can’t make it _too_ easy, can we? This has to hurt. This has to _last._ ”

“There,” Lukas beams. “You get it.”

“Is this what you’re doing with Martin?”

“Not quite. Martin is a very dear and special project of mine,” Lukas answers and then tuts; his palm envelops Jon’s cheek, who lets out a shaky, chilled breath. “Now, now Jon; behave. I told you, speaking about Martin hurts you more than it’ll ever hurt _me_.” 

“All the more reason to tell me everything,” Jon retorts. He aches for Martin’s warmth; it pierces through his stomach as if he’d been shot - the knowledge of what the pain might be like helpfully offered by the Eye - and it twists and curls in his guts, as he recalls Martin’s hands on his face, frantic and worried, what seems forever ago, after - after - when was it again? Had it happened at all, or was he merely imagining what he wanted, rewriting the narrative of their relationship - “I’m not afraid of pain,” he forces himself to say.

“I’m very much aware,” Lukas nods. His eyes are gleaming now, and Jon notices for the first time the slight flush on his cheeks. “I’m afraid Martin doesn’t want you to know, however, and I do make a point of respecting my assistant’s wishes.”

Jon is respecting Martin’s wishes, too; more or less. Surely he can’t blame him for asking questions to Lukas when Lukas came to _him._

“Tell me,” he repeats and lets a little bit more of his power slip on his tongue, straightening up to stare at Lukas in the eyes.

“Martin is researching things for me,” Lukas says and then, to Jon’s crude satisfaction - to the Archivist’s frustration, he has to bite his lips, pressing them together into a thin line. “Oh, you are - pushing the boundaries, Archivist,” he murmurs. 

“You came to me,” Jon says. “You feed your Patron, I feed mine. If you’re not going to do _anything_ then I’ll have to get my answers in a different way. You’re lucky I’m doing you the _courtesy_ of still using my words.”

“Ah, look who’s biting properly now!” Lukas’ thumb grazes over his lips. Jon shivers violently, and his thoughts this time rush to Elias, to the sensation of his warm, long, elegant fingers, pressed against his mouth, whispering _you will do so much, Jon_ in a delicate and reverent voice, more honest than he’d ever been… “I’m not afraid of you, I hope you realize that.”

“You’re not doing much to scare me either,” Jon drawls. 

Lukas bends his head at last; their foreheads touch, and it’s _wrong_ . Something bristles in Jon, possessive and annoyed and it’s - _familiar_ and distant, lingering at the back of his thoughts like statement givers sometimes do except there’s nothing detached about it, nothing _foreign._ It’s dripping into his consciousness like it always belonged there, and he opens his mouth but Lukas says, coldly amused:

“You _are_ scared. But the curiosity is stronger, isn’t it? Do you want to _feel_ Forsaken, Jon? Are you wondering what it must be like, to be entirely alone in the world?”

“Yes,” the Archivist breathes out, and Lukas chuckles. 

His hand moves to the back of his neck, his nose brushes against Jon’s, and Jon feels so chilled and numb he barely realizes he’s crying until Lukas’ lips are drinking his tears. There is a pit at the bottom of Jon’s chest, hollow and empty, and he realizes it’s always been empty; if he has a heart, it’s crumpled and dry from disuse. Has he ever cared for anyone? Has he ever mattered? Dead parents and a grandmother who only did her duty; no friends, no real friends, nobody who ever understood, except Georgie and when she did she left, of course she left, because Jon wasn’t bad at love he was merely incapable of it; he hadn’t shied away from human connections because he thought himself better than them all, he’d always known he just couldn’t do it; didn’t understand Tim’s practical jokes and Sasha’s insistence on having a healthy work and personal life balance. Didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, would never understand how Martin dripped love and gentleness and hope everywhere he went, because those words were foreign to him; Jonathan Sims had never been kind or hopeful, and he would never ever lo -

“Enough, Peter,” says Jon’s mouth. 

He shudders abruptly, pulls himself out of Lukas’ embrace, and he is not alone; of course he is not alone; he feels Elias’ overwhelming presence everywhere he thinks, he sees Peter (young, laughing, shirtless, old, pensive, angry, -) he sees himself and he sees the grey prison walls, he sees the Institute and the world, he sees every mind and oh, all the things he could _know,_ there is so much out there to feed upon, so much to _discover_ -

_Hush,_ whisper Elias’ thoughts; indulgent and firm. _Let me, Jon._

“I believe we had an agreement,” Jon’s mouth keeps saying coolly. 

“Elias!” Peter says delightedly. “I thought you would come sooner, to be quite honest.”

“I do try to intervene as little as possible,” Elias says. “But I’m sadly much too aware of your general lack of self-control.”

Peter laughs. “That’s how you like us, isn’t it, darling?”

Jon startles; he _knows_ with absolute certainty what it is like, to be surprised in the middle of the night by the fog, by icy hands pressing him down in his bed, of a raspy voice crooning _Oh I’ve missed you my dear._ Elias is fond and Jon recoils in disgust. _Don’t pry too much,_ Elias tells him - thinks at him - it’s not so much words as a small tap on his hand ending in a pleased caress. And still, still, Jon sees himself, bursting into Elias’ office, angry and petulant and asking, always _asking -_

“I believe you’ve spent enough time with my Archivist today,” Elias says out loud with Jon’s voice. “And since you’re here, may I remind you that I did not appoint _Martin_ to handle the day-to-day matters of my Institute, Peter.”

Peter grins like a shark. “But he’s very competent at it, darling. Besides, I assumed you’d prefer one of your little Eyes keeping up the good work - not that he’s too much yours, is he?”

The jealousy drips out of them both; Elias is petty and displeased, and Jon’s angry and possessive, and they both _stare_ until Peter flickers and raises his hands. “I see I’ve hit a bit of a nerve; I’m sure I’ll see you both again very soon -”

He leans and catches Jon’s chin between his fingers again, though his eyes are too fond to be directed at _him._ “I wonder,” he hums. “Are you curious how it would feel, to be kissed through his mouth?”

_Mine,_ Jon thinks - Elias thinks - it’s so hard to tell - and Jon raises his hand to finally punch Lukas in the face; but Lukas’ laughter fades and Jon’s hand only hits the fog. He loses his balance, manages to awkwardly catch himself on his desk before completely falling, and then he’s back in prison, sitting calmly on his cot, eyes closed and wide open, staring distractedly at the guards around, watching more closely Basira, whose mind is always so bright and active, rushing through possibilities and questions and solutions even as she helps Daisy with her exercises, and with slight boredom Melanie, sitting on a couch with her hands curled on her lap, her face tight with anger, and oh - _oh, Martin -_ so ordinary, biting his thumbnail and mumbling about budget, his thoughts twirling so beautifully on the task in front of him, and plans, so many plans, and _Jon,_ always, behind all of it, and Jon wants more, Jon wants to drown in Martin’s brilliant mind he wants more - more - _more -_

Martin shudders and glances up with a frown, wondering, and Jon wants -

_That’s quite enough,_ Elias says mildly (annoyed, again, with Martin Blackwood) and Jon falls into his chair, gasping for air.

“What -” he starts, and he can’t quite finish; he feels dizzy.

_A little too soon yet,_ Elias thinks. _But between your lack of self-preservation and Peter’s hunger, I couldn’t leave it to chance._

“So _now_ you’ve decided -” _to intervene?_ Jon finishes; why move his lips? Elias knows. And Jon _sees._

_Beautiful, isn’t it?_

So - large. Unlimited. 

_Ours._

“Why not before?” Jon asks; it’s Elias’ voice, and Elias’ satisfaction and pride leave him boneless and pleased in his chair, at the Institute. 

“You weren’t ready, of course,” Elias says through Jon’s lips.

“I -” _needed you._

_You didn’t reach for me until today. You were scared of what you’d find. What I would tell you._

Jon scoffs; god he remembers now, how easy it is to be irritated at Elias. 

“So that’s all that was?” he asks snappishly. “You made sure I couldn’t reach you, hoping I'd _push through_ all the same?”

“Have I ever done differently?” Elias asks. His voice is mild and placid as ever, but there’s a twinge of amusement in their brains, and Jon wants to scowl but _he is in Elias’ mind._ If there are answers to be found, if there is anywhere in the world he might be able to _know -_

_Soon,_ Elias promises. 

_I could take it all now,_ Jon thinks, and he _does_ push through, greedy and famished; he can feel Elias’ shudder like it’s his own body, can feel the heaviness of his tongue and the sharp pang of pleasure that comes with it, he is adoring and adored, reverent and amused, impatient and careful, he’s -

“Soon,” repeats Elias firmly, and Jon makes a terrible noise at the back of his throat when Elias disappears from his mind, grabbing desperately at the _everything_ they are -- How does he find him? He needs to - he _needs to find him -_

He’s weeping and shaking again when Elias’ thoughts brush against his mind once more. 

“Don’t - do that,” he says - spits - growls with power. 

_I’m always here, Archivist,_ murmurs Elias soothingly. _You may fancy yourself alone, but I am watching you. I am always watching you; and you are growing so beautifully. You merely need me to be patient for us both._

“I keep waiting,” Jon says; the adrenaline of it all is falling away again, as fast as it came. Tiredness settles back uncomfortably in his bones, and he resists the urge of hiding his face away into his arms. “I _have_ been patient, Elias. I’ve _tried -_ ”

_To destroy yourself._

“To understand,” Jon says numbly. “I just need to know what I’m supposed to _do._ ”

“Jonathan,” says Elias, fond and practical. He is smiling with both their mouths. “Let me worry about the future. You know what you need to do _right now._ Peter took a toll on you, and Gertrude’s tape barely counts as a statement.”

There’s a chill running down Jon’s spine; it might be guilt. It might be excitement. His lips part ever so slightly, and he finds himself - hungry.

_Go feed,_ Elias whispers indulgently. _I’ll watch over you._

Jon’s heart skips a beat; this one, for once, does not hurt at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come cry with me about Jonathan Sims and the way he's clearly going to fully fall and embrace the monster in him with like, just one last little push in the right direction! You can find me on my [ blog right there. ](http://somuchbetterthanthat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Oh, and In case you guys are interested, little notes:  
> \- Peter and Elias did not plan this meeting together; but they know each other exceedingly well, and they know how they operate. I would not be surprised if Elias was expecting something like that to happen and took advantage of it. Or if Peter had decided he would go see the Archivist at some point knowing it might be beneficial for his husband. they do love each other so.
> 
> \- Jon wonders at some point if Martin's hands on his face really happened; i pondered about this and decided it definitely did. In fact, it happened in MAG40, after Jon finished interviewing all his coworkers; he got up, and promptly fainted (getting so many statements after jane prentiss: not good.) Martin was still there, panicked, touched tenderly his face when he fuzzily woke up after calling back the paramedics. (It was nice, and warm, and Jon was just enough out of it that for a second he leant against Martin's hands and Martin felt his stupid heart do A Thing again) 
> 
> \- I KNOW that my headcanon for Elias and Jon's mind sharing is not going to happen in canon. I know. But until PROVEN OTHERWISE, i'm going to make it happen as much as I can because I freaking love creepy telepathic bonds and unhealthy codependency I guess.


End file.
